


Wrecking Ball

by getpitchslapped



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F, SO MUCH FLUFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-25
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 00:33:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3999157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getpitchslapped/pseuds/getpitchslapped
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beca’s never been a touchy-feely person—no hand-holding, no cuddling, and certainly no hugs. Until Chloe Beale comes along and turns that policy upside-down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrecking Ball

It starts when Beca is a year and a half old.

Her mother—who has relayed this tale at many a family dinner party—scoops Beca up off of the floor to give her a hug and a kiss. The usual bedtime routine.

Beca, however, violently pushes against her mother’s chest in an effort to free herself, consequently launching herself face-first toward the ground. (Luckily, she only falls onto her parents’ king-sized bed, but Beca’s mom is a lot more careful there on since.)

Perhaps it’s that Beca has recently stopped breast feeding, her mom tells herself, and therefore is trying to establish independence that she reacts so strongly.  _She’ll grow out of it_ , she tells herself.

* * *

She doesn’t grow out of it.

First day of kindergarten.

Boldly walking a few paces in front of her mom, five-year-old Beca strides into the classroom, eyes immediately zeroing in on a toy electronic piano. She drops her backpack onto the floor at her mother’s feet and goes to examine the instrument when her she hears her mom call her name.

“Beca, come say goodbye to Mommy.”

Rolling her eyes (a habit she’s mastered by age three), she drags her feet as she heads back over by the door, and stands stiffly as her mom wraps her arms around her, squeezing tight.

“Mom! Let me go!” Beca protests after a few moments. The split second her mom lets go, she dashes right back over to the piano.

Her mother sighs.

* * *

Her sophomore year of high school, her first boyfriend breaks up with her because she’s “emotionally unavailable”. (His mother, as it turned out, was a psychologist.) Her next one, a few months later, didn’t last too long either. It ended in argument, sparked by Beca’s need for circumferential personal space.

She and her then-boyfriend, Alex, had been sitting on his couch watching a movie. (“You’ll like this one,” Alex had promised. She didn’t.)

He shifts closer to her on the couch, so their sides are touching, and lazily drops an arm behind Beca’s shoulders. Beca shrugs him off and scoots farther toward the end of the couch.

“Why do you do that?” Alex asks, frowning.

Beca gives him a strange look. “Do what?”

“That,” he says, gesturing to the space between the two. “Move away from me.”

Beca shrugs. “Personal space, dude.”

“But you’re my girlfriend. I want to touch you,” Alex says. Then flushes a bright red. “Not like that, but—”

“Grow up,” Beca says, rolling her eyes.

“You don’t want to hold hands with me, you don’t want me to hug you, I can’t…” Alex pauses, turning red again. “…Touch you when we’re kissing. You act like you can hardly stand to be around me.”

“Maybe because you’re always trying to manhandle me,” Beca shoots back, voice raising slightly in volume.

“Manhandle?” Alex turns red again, but this time it’s from anger. “I’m just doing what a _normal_  boyfriend would do with his  _normal_  girlfriend.”

Beca’s mouth drops open. “Fuck you,” she spits.

Then she storms out of the house.

* * *

There’s no real reason for Beca’s anti-hugging stance—she just doesn’t understand the need for people to latch on to each other. To wrap their arms around another human being, like a koala in a tree. It’s weird. She’ll never get why people need to constantly be in contact with someone else. It’s clingy. And Beca Mitchell is  _not_ clingy.

* * *

Being so detached, as it turns out, can make for a lonely existence. And while Beca has her music and Kimmy Jin, her dad keeps hassling her to “join in” on the “fun experience” that college “should be”. So she tentatively accepts the friendship bulldozer that is Jesse Swanson.

He’s quirky and geeky, and a little pushy, and sometimes he stands a little too close for her liking, but Beca supposes she can work around it.

Whatever.

The more time they spend together at the radio station the easier Beca finds tolerating Jesse. At this point, she thinks that she may have even passed the point of tolerance and is nearing actually enjoying his company. (She doesn’t tell him that explicitly, of course, as he’d probably get weird about it.) He can be overbearing at times, but she’s starting to find it—sometimes—endearing.

Unfortunately, Jesse’s a bit of a touchy-feely type. She tries to let him down easy.

“What’s up, weirdo?” Jesse belts out as he barrels through the door of the station. It seems to be his favorite greeting.

“Hey,” Beca mutters, absently flipping through a stack of records when a weight drops onto her shoulders. She twists away, jerking her elbow backwards.

And directly into Jesse’s stomach.

“Ow!” he yelps, jumping back from Beca, who blinks sheepishly up at him.

“Sorry,” she says. “Instinct.”

“Instinct?” Jesse repeats. “Were you raised by the CIA?”

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” Beca says, rolling her eyes and returning to the records.

Jesse looks at her warily. “Fine, no surprise hugging. Is there anything else I should know?”

Beca places the records back onto the table. She holds her arms out at ninety-degree angles to her body and spins in a circle. “This,” she says, “is my personal space.”

Jesse nods. “Got it.” Hetakes a stack of CDs off of a cart for himself, and the two sort for a while in silence.

“Beca?” Jesse asks after a few minutes.

“Hmm?”

“Can I hug you on, like, your birthday?”

Beca sighs and glances up at him, one eyebrow raised. “Three seconds. I mean, if it means that much to you.”

“Cool,” Jesse says, smiling, then retreats into the shelves to put away the CDs.

Beca just shakes her head.

* * *

Apparently, one friend is not sufficient for her father.

So Beca tries out for the Bellas.

It’s strictly to appease her dad. They’ll never pick her.

* * *

They pick her.

And they notify in the most obnoxious way possible—pounding on her door late at night (which Kimmy Jin does NOT appreciate). And drag her to an undisclosed location.

It was Chloe who retrieved her. Chloe, the girl who accosted her in the shower. Chloe, the girl whom Beca cannot for the life of her figure out how to read, no matter how long she stares when the girl is turned away—

Anyway.

After she blearily stumbled to open the door Chloe stage-whispered to put on some shoes and come with her, all the while giggling and animatedly hissing “Shh!” as if there was some chance in hell that Kimmy Jin was still asleep.

They tiptoe out the door with all of the discreetness of an elephant on ice skates and are halfway down the hall by the time Beca notices that Chloe’s got her right hand wrapped firmly around Beca’s left. She stares at their joined hands for a moment, feeling inexplicably confused, slowing her pace a bit. How did she not notice this?

Chloe turns to tell Beca to hurry up when she notices the other girl’s slight frown. She follows her gaze to their hands, and she immediately lets go.

“Sorry,” Chloe says sheepishly, stuffing the hand into her jacket pocket.

“It’s okay,” Beca says quickly, awkwardly staring at her hands for a moment before following suit and burying them in her pockets. She feels an inexplicable urge to add, _Don’t stop_.

They’re engulfed by an awkward silence as they make their way to the old lecture hall-turned-rehearsal space. It’s hard to think of conversation topics with someone with whom the only interaction Beca’s had is singing nude.

When they get to the door, Chloe turns to her. “I’m supposed to put this over your head,” she explains, holding up a silk bag that resembles a pillowcase.

Beca wrinkles her nose. “Why?”

Chloe shrugs. “Tradition.”

“You’re not going to, like, tie me to a chair and do weird shit or anything like that, right?” Beca asks hesitantly, eyeing the bag.

“Oh, no,” Chloe says, shaking her head vehemently. “That’s hazing. It’s forbidden in the student handbook.”

“Thank God for the student handbook, then,” Beca grumbles, allowing Chloe to slip the bag over her head. She hears Chloe push open the door, and then feels her take her hand again. Her heartbeat picks up a bit. She attributes it to her current lack of visibility—and the fact that the other leader of the Bellas probably hates her.

She really hopes that Aubrey’s one to abide by the student handbook.

* * *

Beca needn’t have worried (minus the whole blood-drinking thing). She makes it to the initiation night party unscathed and avowed to  _never_  have sexual relations with a Treblemaker. (She can’t wait to tell Jesse that one.)

She doesn’t have to wait long.

Jesse is preceded by his voice. “Becaw! Becaw!” she hears before turning and watching a tipsy Jesse manipulate the steps toward her, drink in hand.

“Do my eyes deceive me? Or are you a Barden Bella?” Jesse croons, and Beca can only shake her head. “You’re one of those a capella girls, I’m one of those a capella boys, and we’re gonna have aca-children. It’s inevitable.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, my friend,” Beca says, holding up a hand. “I swore away my sexual relations to the likes of you Treblemakers. Which, if I’m not mistaken, is the only way to produce aca-children.”

Jesse stares at her for a moment. “You need a drink,” he decides, and ambles away with a promise to return. Beca just watches, shaking her head, lips pursed.

Suddenly, she notices a rapidly-approaching Chloe. She marches right up and grabs Beca’s hands, pulling her close. A small noise escapes Beca, embarrassingly high in pitch. She nearly topples over on top of Chloe, but braces her foot against the bleacher bench before their noses can collide.

“Hi,” Beca breathes, the pungent smell of cheap booze hitting her nostrils.

“I’m so glad that I met you,” Chloe gushes, cocking her head and smiling up at Beca. “I think that we’re gonna be really fast friends.”

“Well, you saw me naked, so…” Beca jokes, suddenly feeling self-conscious, Chloe still grasping her hands.

“You’re gonna be a great addition, I just know it,” Chloe says. “Don’t worry about Aubrey, her parents just never let her out of the shrink wrap.”

Beca blinks confusedly. “I don’t know what that means.” Chloe just winks in response.

“Well, I’m gonna go get a drink,” Chloe says, rubbing her hands up and down Beca’s arms.

Beca starts to nod and then—suddenly—is pulled into a hug.

Chloe is a good hugger, Beca discovers. She wraps her arms around her small frame tightly, squeezing hard but not hard enough to hurt. Her hands rest behind Beca’s shoulders, pulling her close. The bleacher bench gives her enough height to rest her chin comfortably on Chloe’s shoulder and her hair smells like strawberries. It’s very odd—in the sense that Beca doesn’t have an overwhelming urge to pull back and shove Chloe off of her, which is how she normally reacts to hugs. When Chloe lets go, she frowns slightly, the rush of cool night air just makes her feel… cold.

“See you tomorrow!” Chloe calls as she makes her way to the drinks table.

“What’s up with you two?”

Beca jumps at the voice and whirls around to see Jesse, one eyebrow raised, holding a red plastic cup out to her. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“That,” Jesse says, gesturing between Beca and Chloe’s retreating form. “She hugged you. And you didn’t try to shank her.”

“I didn’t try to  _shank_  you,” Beca protests.

“If you had had a shiv, I would have been in the hospital,” Jesse says.

“Calm down, drama queen, you’re fine,” Beca teases, sipping at the drink Jesse hands her. It tastes like a mixture of mouthwash and fruit punch.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Jesse points out, tapping his fingers against his cup.

“I don’t even remember the question,” Beca lies, glancing away.

“Why can Chloe hug you but not me?” Jesse asks.

“You sound like a six-year-old,” Beca says. “And I don’t want to injure one of the captains and make her hate me too.”

“So you  _were_  trying to injure me!” Jesse points an accusatory finger toward Beca.

“I will again if you don’t stop pestering me,” Beca grumbles, scrunching a hand in her hair. “And I’ll make sure I do it right this time.”

“Whoa, okay.” Jesse holds up the hand that isn’t holding his drink. “No need to inflict serious bodily harm.”

Beca mimes pulling something out of her boot and Jesse feigns alarm. “I’m too young to die!” he shouts. His foot catches on the bench and he stumbles back, the liquid in his cup sloshing over the edge and onto his shirt.

“Shit,” he exclaims, wiping at the stain with his sleeve as if it’ll alleviate the problem.

Beca can’t help but laugh. “That’ll teach you not to mess with me.”

* * *

(It doesn’t work. Jesse still bugs her.)

But that’s the first time she notices it.

* * *

The second time is at the first Bellas practice.

It’s not that Beca’s having trouble with  _executing_ the choreography, because—really—a six-year-old could probably do it. it’s more that she just hates the choreography itself. Outline a square with her hands to the lyrics “I saw the sign”? Really? Not terribly original.

Anyway, Chloe picks up on her silent protest and takes it upon herself to help. Without warning, Beca feels fingers curl around her wrists and someone press up against her back. She jumps and turns, nearly knocking Chloe in the nose with her forehead.

“Oh, it’s you,” Beca says once she sees the redhead.

“Who else would it be?” Chloe asks jokingly, nudging Beca with her hip until she turns back around and rests her chin on her shoulder. Beca sinks back a bit involuntarily, and she can’t help but notice how nicely their bodies fit together.

She shrugs against the weight of Chloe’s chin. “Maybe Aubrey wants to make amends.”

She feels a rush of warm air as Chloe snorts in her ear. “Five, six, seven, eight…” She lifts Beca’s hands and starts leading her through the square formation.

“I know, I can do it,” Beca protests weakly.

“Okay, now show me,” Chloe says, stepping back.

Beca cocks an eyebrow and turns around, repeating the move. “Ta-da,” she says mock-enthusiastically.

Chloe beams. “Good job!”

“Um, thanks.” She watches as Chloe sashays away to help Denise.  _That girl is too happy for her own good_ , Beca thinks, shaking her head.

* * *

The third time happens when they’re hanging out in Beca’s room.

It’s a Thursday afternoon. They’re studying, because Chloe has a paper due on Monday and Beca has an exam the next day. She’s sitting lengthwise on her bed with her legs out in front of her, and Chloe sits with her back against the shelves, legs draped over Beca’s. Beca’s feet are kind of falling asleep, but she doesn’t want to disturb Chloe, who is tapping away aggressively at her keyboard (meanwhile, Beca’s been rereading the same paragraph in her biology textbook for the last fifteen minutes). Outside, rain pelts the sidewalk and taps at the window. It’s cozy in her room—with Beca wrapped up in an oversized hoodie and Chloe in a sweatshirt, hair piled on top of her head.

“Urgh,” she hears Chloe grunt, and looks up to the the older girl drag her hands down her face, looking frustrated.

“What’s wrong?” Beca shifts slightly in an effort to circulate her blood flow to her feet but not dislodge Chloe’s legs.

Chloe shuts the lid of her laptop in a huff. “I’m supposed to write at least ten pages but I’ve run out of things to say.”

“Do you want me to help you? I’m great at bullshitting,” Beca offers.

“Meh.” Chloe flops onto her side, nestling her head in Beca’s lap, and blinks up at her.

“Um, hello,” Beca says, patting the top of Chloe’s head.

“School sucks,” Chloe whines.

“I concur.” Beca taps her fingers against her book, trying to remember what the hell the difference between a genotype and a phenotype is. Chloe yanks the elastic out of her hair and auburn locks spill onto Beca’s lap. She shifts the book slightly to accommodate Chloe, absently running her fingers through her soft hair as she starts reading the chapter from the beginning.

“Beca?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m not a cat,” Chloe jokes, grinning up at her.

Beca jerks her hand back as if she’s been burned, blushing. “Shit, sorry.”

“I’m kidding,” Chloe says, pouting. “Don’t stop.” Hesitantly, Beca resumes petting Chloe’s head, feeling self-conscious. Chloe lets out a contented little sigh and her eyes flutter shut. Beca goes back to reading. After a few minutes, she doesn’t even notice what she’s doing.

Until Chloe starts making fucking purring sounds.

“Shut up,” Beca groans, tapping Chloe on the forehead.

Chloe purrs louder, although now intermixed with high-pitched giggles. Beca clamps her hand over the other girl’s mouth. “Shut  _up_.” Suddenly, Beca feels something moist against her palm as Chloe proceeds to lick and nibble her skin.

“Dude, gross!” Beca wipes her hand across Chloe’s sweatshirt. “I don’t need to know how you pleasure your gentlemen-friends.”

Chloe smirks. “I’ve gotten really good at using my mouth from a capella.”

“TMI,” Beca mutters, hiding her flushing face behind her hands. “You’re so weird.”

“Don’t make that face. You love it,” Chloe says, rolling onto her back, head still in Beca’s lap. She reaches up and tugs Beca’s hands away from her face. “Beca.”

“What?” Beca looks down warily at Chloe, who just holds her pointer and middle finger in the shape of a V in front of her mouth, tongue flicking back and forth between them.

Beca thumps her pillow over Chloe’s face.

* * *

The fourth time, they’re at Chloe’s place.

Well, more specifically, Chloe and Aubrey’s place. Bellas movie night. For “team bonding” or some shit. Beca fails to see how cheap beer and  _The Silence of the Lambs_  constitutes bonding, but Chloe’s curled up half on top of her, so it’s not like she can leave. Actually, the movie isn’t too bad so far. She actually had to stop herself from pulling out a pen to try and solve one of Hannibal’s anagrams.

Chloe, on the other hand, isn’t faring too well.

She’s spent, like, the last half hour with her face buried in the nook of Beca’s neck, shrieking every time Anthony Hopkins looks directly into the camera. And when Jodie Foster discovers the severed head in the bottle, Chloe nearly stuffs her head down the front of Beca’s hoodie. Her fingers are woven tightly in the loose material of Beca’s sweatshirt, one eye peeking out at the TV screen. It was unnerving at first, having another person almost completely wrapped around her body, clinging on for dear life. She’s relaxed enough to feel comfortable, although her breathing wavers every time Chloe tries to burrow inside her clothing. Beca’s left arm is draped around her back, holding her close, her fingers absently tapping out a rhythm against Chloe’s side. On the screen, the guards open Hannibal’s bird cage-slash-prison cell to bring him dinner, and Chloe’s slips her hand into Beca’s, squeezing tightly. Beca smiles to herself and hugs Chloe tighter, heartbeat picking up as Hannibal snaps the handcuffs around the guard’s wrist, securing him to the cage. When it starts to get particularly gory, Chloe turns away from the screen altogether. Beca can feel the warmth of her breath against her neck, and, without thinking, she runs her hand soothingly over Chloe’s hair. After a few moments, Chloe tentatively starts watching again, still clutching Beca’s hand tightly. Just as her breathing starts to even out, Hannibal whips the guard’s face off of his own and (Beca infers) probably eats all of the EMTs in the ambulance. Chloe (along with half of the Bellas) screams, holding Beca’s hand in a death grip while her other one desperately squeezes a particularly sensitive area on Beca’s chest.

“Ow!” she yelps, jumping and almost knocking Chloe to the floor.

“Oh, my God, I’m so sorry!” Chloe exclaims, clapping a hand over her mouth. A few of the Bellas glance over at the commotion.

“Trouble in paradise?” Fat Amy asks from the other end of the couch.

“What?” Beca gives her a strange look.

Amy gestures to Chloe, who’s still wrapped around her. “You two look so domesticated. You were looking at her the way I look at donuts—”

“We’re good, thanks,” Beca cuts her off through gritted teeth, thankful for the dark room as a blush creeps up her neck. Chloe’s shoulders shake a bit as she tries to suppress a laugh. Beca whacks her on the arm.

Fucking Chloe Beale is going to be the death of her.

* * *

The fifth time is at the ICCAs. Well, the night before the ICCAs. At the hotel. The Bellas, in an effort to save money, split themselves into two rooms; two girls would sleep in each bed, plus one on a rollaway cot. Beca is sharing a room with Jessica, Ashley, Cynthia Rose, and Chloe. (Aubrey and Chloe stationed themselves, one in each room, to make sure they keep their eyes on the prize—because “second place is first loser.” Words of wisdom from Aubrey’s father.)

It’s nearly midnight when they finally get to their rooms and collapse onto the bed. Beca dumps her bag haphazardly onto the floor, exhausted. Cynthia Rose volunteers to sleep on the cot, much to Beca’s relief—that thing looks like it hasn’t ever seen the light of day—and it goes without saying that Jessica and Ashley will share a bed.

“Top or bottom?” Chloe asks with a wink. Beca’s mouth goes dry, and she stares at Chloe, her face flushing.

“What?” Cynthia Rose says, eyeing them with a strange look.

Beca blushes even more violently and holds up her hands. “Nothing! I mean, no. She’s kidding,” she stammers as Chloe giggles behind her. “You’re not helping,” she hisses, whacking Chloe with one of the pillows. She yelps, grabbing the other pillow in self-defense.

“Watch your mouth, Mitchell, or I’ll be forced to use this against you,” she says, waving the pillow above her head.

“Oh, I’m shaking,” Beca says flatly, bending over and yanking a t-shirt and shorts out of her bag. As she moved to right herself, Chloe brought the pillow down against her back with a  _whump_ , knocking her off balance and face-first into the mattress. “ _Oof_.” Chloe cackles triumphantly as Beca pushes off the bed and grabs her pillow. She swings, smacking Chloe right in the face.

“You’re dead,” she says, lunging at Beca. The brunette squeals and jumps out of reach, knocking right into Ashley as she comes out of the bathroom.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” Beca says.

“It’s okay,” Ashley says kindly, but she takes a step away from the pair.

Cynthia Rose, who had gone into the bathroom after Ashley exited, pokes her head back out. “Do I need to call Aubrey?”

“No!” Beca half-shouts, shaking her head emphatically. “We’re good.” Chloe pokes her in the side and she turns, pillow raised menacingly. Chloe ducks instinctively and Beca mimes as if she’s going to hit her, sending the redhead diving into the bed, shrieking.

“That’s what I thought!” Beca calls, puffing out her chest dramatically. Jessica and Ashley just sit on their bed, looking unsure of what to make of the two’s antics.

“Okay, kids, settle down,” Cynthia Rose says as she rounds the corner. “Lights out time.”

“But Mo-o-om,” Chloe whines jokingly, bouncing on the end of the bed.

“No buts!” Cynthia Rose claps her hands.

Chloe laughs good-naturedly, stands, turns around, and starts stripping down to her underwear in the middle of the room. Beca watches her, finding herself transfixed by the contours of Chloe’s body—the protrusion of her shoulder blades, the muscles in her back, the curve of her calf muscles. The contrast between Chloe’s creamy skin and the navy blue of her underwear.  _Who wears fucking matching underwear sets for a plane ride?_  Beca thinks. _Unless she was planning on joining the Mile High Club…_  Beca shakes her head to clear the thought. Behind her, Cynthia Rose clears her throat. Beca jumps, turning to see the girl eyeing her with one eyebrow raised.

“Um, right,” she mutters, quickly she grabbing her pajamas and shuffling into the bathroom. Once inside, she splashes cold water on her face, staring at herself in the mirror for a moment before changing and brushing her teeth.

When she emerges, Chloe has already made herself comfortable in the bed, taking up about two-thirds of the space. Beca slides in, nudging Chloe’s legs out of the way.

“G'night,” she says, leaning over to turn off the lamp. Everyone choruses “good night” back, except for Jessica, who is already sound asleep. Beca settles back down, facing away from Chloe, listening to everyone’s breathing evening out. Albeit being dead tired only half an hour before, she is inexplicably wide awake. She stares at the wall, going over their set for the competition the next day in her head, tapping her fingers against the edge of the mattress. She feels Chloe shift behind her, tugging the blanket farther onto her side of the bed. She goes to yank it back—

But then she freezes.

She feels an arm snaking around her waist from behind and warm breath on the back of her neck. Chloe snuggles in closer, and Beca can feel the heat radiating between their bodies. Knees fit behind her own and Chloe tugs her closer, nuzzling her nose into Beca’s neck. She goes rigid, taking in shallow breaths; she lies still for a few moments, waiting for the other girl to come to her senses, but she doesn’t seem like she’s going to be going anywhere.

“Chlo?” Beca whispers, turning her head slightly. “What’re you doing?”

Chloe makes an  _mmph_  sound before breathing out, “Shh,” the stream of breath tickling the back of Beca’s neck. When it becomes clear that Chloe is prepared to spend the night latched onto her back like a baby koala, Beca wills herself to relax. After a couple of deep breathes she sinks back into Chloe’s embrace. In all of the weird touchy-feely time the two spend together, this is the closest–physically speaking—she’s ever been to the redhead. Once the anxiety of surprise quells, Beca discovers that is beginning to feel sleepy.

She falls asleep trying not to think about why.

* * *

They won.

They fucking won with Beca’s set.

She’s fully prepared to march up to Aubrey and shout, “I told you so!” but is instead met with open arms. She accepts the (short) hug and then feels a tap on her shoulder, turning to see Chloe. The redhead grabs her around the waist, spinning around, screaming. Beca throws her head back, joining in on the cheering. It’s only when Chloe falters and nearly catapults her off of the stage that they calm down a bit. But when the championship trophy is handed to them, the excitement begins anew. They barely contain themselves for a few photo ops before stampeding into the lobby, Beca clutching the trophy with both hands.

She immediately spots Jesse and skips over, holding the prize above her head (well, as far above her head as she can manage, as the trophy is large and her arms are small).

“Sucks to suck, doesn’t it, Swanson?” she taunts, still breathy from excitement.

Jesse rolls his eyes, waving her off dismissively. “Whatever. We were still better,” he says jokingly, but Beca suspects his sentiment isn’t entirely in jest.

“Better? Dude, we crushed you guys— _oof_.” Beca is cut off by someone jumping on her back. She doesn’t have to turn to know it’s Chloe—red hair is already finding its way into her mouth. She sputters as Chloe returns her feet to the ground. “Watch where you’re swinging that hair, Chlo.”

Chloe shrugs an apology before motioning to the trophy still clutched in Beca’s hands. “Can I see that? Aubrey and I want to take some pictures with it.”

“Sure.” Beca hands it over and Chloe gives her another quick hug before sashaying away.

Jesse clears his throat. “What’s going on between you guys?” he asks, rubbing his hand on the back of his head.

“Huh?” Beca squints in confusion.

“You and Chloe.”

“What  _about_  me and Chloe?”

“Are you together or something?”

“Are we  _what_?!” Beca hisses, yanking Jesse away from the crowd of people.

“Together. Dating. Or friends with bene—”

Beca smacks Jesse on the arm, feeling her face heat up. “Shut up. We aren’t together. Where the fuck did you get  _that_  idea?”

Jesse gestures vaguely between Beca and Chloe’s general direction. “You barely let me give you a high five but you let  _her_  climb all over you.”

“We’re just friends, Jess,” Beca says, running a hand through her hair, suddenly feeling very tired. “Keep your weird fantasies to yourself.”

Jesse pauses. “Are we just friends?”

“Yes.  _Just_  friends,” Beca says, nodding for emphasis, surreptitiously sneaking a glance behind her at Chloe in the sea of people.

“So can I hug you?” Jesse presses.

“Negative,” Beca deadpans. “If I let you hug me, I’d have nothing to give you for your birthday.”

“But you let Chloe hug you all the time,” Jesse presses. “Why is that?”

“I—she—because,” Beca sputters, wringing her hands. “I don’t know!”

“You won’t let anyone come within a two-foot radius of you except Chloe,” Jesse says, leaning back against the wall. Why?”

“I told you,  _I don’t know_ ,” Beca shouts, then glances around to see if anyone noticed. Seeing no one, she lowers her voice. “She’s just special, okay?”

Jesse just nods slowly in response.

“Where are you going with this, Dr. Phil?” Beca asks, crossing her arms.

Jesse moves as if he’s going to lay a hand on her shoulder, but then thinks better of it. “I think you like her.”

Beca opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. Instead, she shakes her head vehemently. “You’re nuts.”

“Hey, leave my nuts out of this,” Jesse says, pretending to be affronted. Then his expression grows serious. “Look, Bec, I’m not trying to give you a hard time.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Beca grumbles, looking away.

“I just want you to be happy.” Jesse follows Beca’s gaze to where Chloe is taking goofy pictures with a few of the other Bellas, hugging the trophy as if it were a baby. “And I think Chloe makes you happy.”

Beca sighs heavily in response, nodding. “I appreciate that.”

“Well, I’m going to join the pity party,” Jesse says, gesturing to where Unicycle, Donald, and a few other Trebles are moping by the door, pretending to be busy doing something on their phones.

“Okay.” Beca gives Jesse a half-smile. After he walks away, she hurries down the hall to the bathroom.

Inside, she braces her hands on either side of the sink, staring at herself in the mirror, much like the way she did the night before, trying to see if the confusion roiling in the pit of her stomach comes across on her face. It doesn’t; she simply looks tired.

She splashes some water on her face, Jesse’s words ringing in her head.  _I don’t like Chloe, do I?_  she thinks, trying to connect her feelings to what she felt with her old boyfriends. She thinks hard for a moment. All of them had made the first move—and she had accepted… because she liked them? Or because all of her friends had boyfriends? They were nice guys (for the most part), but, she realizes, her feelings towards them were like her feelings towards Jesse. Tolerable, and sometimes fun to hang out with, and—if she’s being honest—the sex was okay, too. (Not that she’s had—or ever will have—sex with Jesse. Ew.) But when they wanted to cuddle and just be generally in her personal space, she drew the line.

Well, shit.

She likes Chloe Beale.

* * *

Unfortunately, there isn’t much time for partying. The Bellas have an early flight back to Georgia the next morning, so they return to their rooms with the promise of a massive celebration when they get home. Personally, Beca is grateful—she feels emotionally and physically drained. She spent the bus ride back to the hotel brooding, staring blankly out the window, looking up only when Chloe had plopped down in the seat next to her, flinching when the redhead had slung an arm over her shoulders. She can still see look of confusion on Chloe’s face when she closes her eyes, and she feels badly about it. But she’s never been particularly good at handling her feelings even without the added stress of—you know—liking a  _girl_ . Especially a girl who treats her as a climbing structure. And a girl she’s supposed to share a bed with tonight.

Ugh. She just  _doesn’t_  need any more reasons to be awkward.

She slides into bed, curling up in a ball as far away from Chloe’s side as she can. Of course, Chloe emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later, climbs in, and promptly gravitates toward Beca. Beca hugs her knees tighter, scooching a tiny bit further away, acutely aware that Chloe is shifting behind her. She breathes shallow breaths, waiting, until Chloe slings an arm across her middle. Even though she’s expecting it, Beca jumps, sliding over the edge of the bed and landing on the floor with a  _thump_.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” Chloe’s face appears above her, looking concerned.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine,” Beca says, rubbing her elbow absently. “I just… fell.” She sits up and glances around; luckily, the other girls are still sound asleep.

“I can see that.” Chloe pulls the blankets back and pats the mattress. “Maybe if you didn’t try to sleep in the corner, that wouldn’t have happened.” She laughs. “What were you doing?”

“Oh, um…” Beca rakes a hand through her hair. “Just trying to get some… space.”

Chloe’s eyebrows knit together slightly. “Space?”

The brunette glances down, picking at her fingernails. “Yeah, like, can you maybe… not touch me?” The hurt is evident on Chloe’s face, and Beca kicks herself internally.

“Uh, yeah,” Chloe says, sounding confused, but she moves back nonetheless. Beca lies down again, facing the wall, feeling like an idiot.

They lie in silence for a while, until Chloe whispers, “Did I do something wrong?”

Beca feels like she’s been punched in the gut. She rolls over to face Chloe, their noses inches apart. “No, God no. Of course not. It’s not you, it's—”

“Me?” Chloe finishes, one corner of her mouth turning up slightly before reverting back to its firm line.

Beca nods, looking everywhere but at Chloe’s eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Chloe reaches for Beca’s hand, but stops herself. “Sorry.”

“I can't—I don’t know… It’s stupid,” Beca mutters, feeling very tempted to grab the other girl’s hand. To hug her. To kiss— _Shut up, brain_ , she admonishes to herself.

“I’m sure it’s not stupid,” Chloe says, her eyes wide with concern. “You can tell me anything.”

Beca squirms under her gaze, feeling overwhelmed. “I…” her voice cracks. She feels a prickly sensation behind her eyes and she just  _knows_  she’s going to start crying if she stays here with Chloe looking at her like that but she doesn’t know  _why_  and she just—

“I need to get out of here,” Beca mumbles, slipping out of bed and power-walking to the door, pausing only to glance over her shoulder and, yep, Chloe’s following her and— _God_ —there doesn’t seem to be any way  _out_  of this. She exits the room in bare feet, leaving the door a slightly ajar and walks several paces down the hall before sliding down the wall into a sitting position, bracing her elbows on her knees and holding her head in her hands. She blows out a shaky breath, and hears Chloe take a seat next to her, but she keeps her face buried in her hands.

They sit in silence for a few long minutes before Chloe speaks. “Beca?”

“Mmph,” Beca says, hands still over her face.

“Can I hug you?”

Beca stiffens, unsure of what to say, so she stays quiet.

“What did I do, Beca?” Chloe asks softly. “Please tell me what I did so I can fix it.”

At this, Beca finally looks at her. “It’s not you, Chloe,” she says, sniffling a little. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Then why can’t I touch you anymore?” Chloe looks so distraught, and it makes Beca feel horribly guilty. Something inside of her—her resolve—breaks.

“I don’t let people touch me, Chloe. No one—not my mom, not my friends, not even my boyfriends. It makes me uncomfortable. But then you come along, and you… you hang on me, you hug me, you  _sit_  in my  _lap_  and…” A tear escapes and slips down her cheek. “And I’m  _okay_ with it. God, I  _like_  it. It makes me feel good and… and I don’t know why and…” She’s actually crying now, sniffling and hiccuping between words. “It’s so fucking confusing. _I’m_  so fucking confused. And then I finally realized why and I don’t know how to handle it and—”

“Beca,” Chloe interrupts, and Beca looks up, still sniffling. “Are you trying to tell me that you like me?”

A blush creeps up Beca’s neck and she looks away, nodding faintly. In her peripheral vision, she sees Chloe reach out tentatively and press a hand to her cheek, waiting for Beca to pull away. She doesn’t. Chloe wipes away the tears that are still making their way down the brunette’s face with her thumb gently.

“Oh,” she says simply.

Beca looks at her incredulously. “ _Oh?_  Is that all you have to say?”

Chloe’s lips curl into a smirk. “Well, that and this…” She takes Beca’s face in both hands and—holy shit—leans slowly forward, pressing her lips softly to Beca’s, so light that they’re just barely touching. Beca sits completely still in shock for a moment, before pulling Chloe closer by the back of the head. Her mouth tastes like mint toothpaste and her hair smells like strawberries. Just as her lips are starting to part, the door to their room opens and Cynthia Rose’s head pokes out.

“Hey, are you two oka—whoa! Sorry!” Her eyes widen comically as Beca and Chloe jerk apart. Cynthia Rose ducks back inside and shuts the door with a slam.

“Shit,” Beca whispers, her heart pounding (she’s not sure if it’s from getting caught or the whole—you know— _kissing Chloe thing_ ).

Chloe, however, just laughs. “Cat’s out of the bag now, Bec!”

“You’re not helpful,” Beca grumbles, frowning.

“Oh, don’t make that face,” Chloe says, winding her arms loosely around Beca’s shoulders. “You love it.”

Beca rolls her eyes. “Sure, whatever.”

Then she leans in for another kiss.


End file.
